I Dream of Freedom EDITED
by tisvana18
Summary: Her once seemingly soft and loving touch now replaced with the feel of a frozen actor's corpse. Rehearsed and emotionless they leave, cold and without meaning the illusion of the first time now lost.  And what about me? What about the child involved?
1. Prologue

_*Crying* I like this story better, less things to fix! Anyways, I'm not posting this until the entire story is completed, so I can't do my ADHD thing where I scream at you for not reviewing and then walk off to entertain myself with some other creative outlet by drawing endless amounts of my own fan-work._

_(cough) Anyways, the narrator is Helena. Didn't particularly care about suspension in this story._

_This story is a revision of my old story I Dream of Freedom._

_I get to elaborate, yay! I never owned IZ, never will own IZ, and will probably die the not-owner of IZ._

_Yes, House of Leaves reference..._

_Rated M for Yuri, character death, language, and some bad mental images._

**The Common Prologue**

**Narrator**

Do not read this.

This is the completely true and horrific account of an event that happened millions of years before you were born. It will happen again as it is written. You have been lied to your entire life, but I am here to teach you about our ancestors and how all things are doomed to repeat themselves.

First of all, aliens exist.

Second of all, there is no such thing as a painless death.

Third of all, there is no Hell, only the world you inhabit.

**Finally, and most importantly: The world as you knew it, is ending.**

Did I get your attention?

Yes, the world that you love will be ending very soon, and replaced with a wasteland so barren and despaired that you will wish for death to come and smite you to the earth. It will not come through a nuclear war or a stock market crash. It will not be the result of an alien invasion or the internet shutting off.

It all starts with the events that conspire not on Earth, but on a civilization just as forsaken and dead

and their people have received this same account that I entrusted into their archives for millions of years, because the longer you deny anything is happening, the longer you survive.

You do not want to survive when it happens...

From the second you finish reading this sentence, you have twelve years to live.

You cannot redeem yourself.

There is no repentance from this cycle, there is no ending.

There is only death.

Do not read this.

This is the completely true and horrific account of an event that happened millions of years before you were born. It will happen again as it is written. You have been lied to your entire life, but I am here to teach you about our ancestors and how all things are doomed to repeat themselves.


	2. Chapter One

_Some character background here._

**Chapter One**

**Narrator**

There are two different times that must be addressed before this account may be understood. I can understand if you do not wish to read about these events, and thus you may skip them. But for those who wish to spend these next few minutes here, bear with me; they are not to be taken lightly.

These events take place in a time much forgotten, yet as revered as the Holocaust or the Armenian Genocide. Not many souls have heard of this event in history though, most didn't survive to tell the story.

But I survived, I had a friend once who had lived through this era. I do not know what became of her or the others, but I am here to dictate the memory.

A setting:

Capitol City, Irk. Population: 7.8 _Billion_

**2881 A.D.**

**Carla**

She was beautiful. Bright blue orbs, and long antenna. She might have been a powerful telekinetic one day, but these are dark times for a child to be born in, yet she is a child— she knows not of fear or pain. As we walk these dark alleyways dressed in rags, she smiles and giggles at me. I tell her stories of the once mighty Vortian Empire, and of the Irkens that brought it to an end.

I also tell her of the Irken Empire, of their beautiful military and the colors of their flag. Primrose, Green, Red; the colors of blood, the colors of knowledge, prosperity, hatred, and valor. I tell her of her father who was killed in the initial Meekrobian War, and how much I love her.  
He loved her too, I'd tell her although I am quite unsure of this idea. Her father was an Irken, and I am not sure that they are even capable of real love, but if they are not capable then he was a very convincing actor. He went to war because it would secure safe passage for our daughter onto a Non-Irken controlled planet.

But he was killed and the contract fell apart, I gave birth to our daughter and life tried to move on.

But our life was hard, first the genocide only involved Meekrobians, then it involved physically inept Irkens, followed by Blorchians, then it included Vortians. I knew I was safe as a Massive Engineer, and at one time even believed my daughter was safe; after all, what Irken even knows that you can crossbreed?

Apparently scientists did. Unholy experiments were being performed on these little babies, but when one defends themselves the whole Empire goes crazy in an Anti-Virken propaganda. This is how we ended up in this hell.

Vickey yawned as she awoke from her induced-slumber. I looked up and surveyed the streets nervously.

"Go back to sleep Vickey-baby, we'll be home soon," I cradled her small head in the palm of my hand. She looked at me tiredly, the newborn she is. I smiled fondly down at her, my baby-girl, my _Ti sev Anastar_.

I sang softly in her antenna, the same lullaby that I used to sing to her father during the sleepless nights. Ti Sev Anastar, Sev Ren kar Rist; My Only star, My Only Wish is You. Almost as if she were under a spell, she was quickly lulled to sleep. I looked above us at a large chain gate towards the ship-docks.

"How much is it?"

"What the hell do you mean?" I whispered incredulously, my daughter is not a slave and she will not be _bought_.

"How much does she cost?" A gruff Irken male demanded, he had a cigar in his hand and ripped clothing. He resembled the kind of man that worked shady carnivals.

"I'm not selling my daughter"

"In order to secure passage we need to pay a _fee_. How much _would_ she cost?"

I paused holding my daughter close to my chest, I did not bring any money with me and a newborn Virken would fetch over three million on the black market, or more if it were sold into the military. Vickey will also be a competent telekinetic, judging by the size of her horns. Overall, I would say at least 7.5 million if she were to be sold into an industrial setting. I hesitated before telling the conductor.

"I-If she were sold into an industrial nation...7.5 million..."

"_Million?_ For this runt? I wouldn't even say she were worth those rags you're wearing!"

"She's a newborn, easy to train, a great telekinetic, and-"

We were interrupted by gunshot behind us. Alarmed, I broke in a gallop towards the ship. It was without a doubt that I was being hunted by the Irken Elites, and they shoot to kill. Never injure, never capture, and they were trained only to point and shoot. They _enjoyed_ killing and were above most laws.

I was halfway towards the ship when the first bullet hit me.

I fell towards the ground in a crumpled heap over Vickey, who was now crying. I was bleeding on her, and she was afraid. I do not know if she could sense the terror of the situation, but the worst thing for her was to be crying where the Elites could hear her.

I slowly whispered a lullaby trying to cradle her head like I did at home, listening to my own blood pour out to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

"_Ti Sev Anastar...Sev Ren Kar Rist...Ti Sev Anastar..."_

And in the back of my head, I could have sworn I heard one last bullet fire...

**Gti**

The soldiers dispersed quickly at the sight of our Tallest, they feared him and he had a strong dislike for anything that could ruin a mission. Of course, he was the only one who could control the Irken Elites- discharge them if they blow their own cover by creating a drive-by shootout.

No one knew his name, but down here in the docks we call him Red. We respect Red, and he turns the other cheek on our smuggling rings if we smuggle a package for him every once and a while. Sometimes it will be a person, or maybe something to create a diversion when he fucks up. No one ever knows but me, of course. I'm Gti, although I operate under the code Capital G.

Of course, Red usually called me Gti, but he usually didn't kill one of my clients.

"Gti, I have a package." Red stated, as if he had not gunned down my client moments before. I watched him bitterly, choosing my next sentence in a way that would not betray my cause. Red looked over at the woman he killed, as if he had heard something.

"My Tallest, forgive me if this comes off as rude, but where do you get off? You just murdered my client!"

"Her name is Carla"

I stopped, I did not expect my Tallest to recognize one of my clients by name, hell most of the time he couldn't even pronounce my name correctly! Here I have this perfect stranger bargaining with me to take her child, and out of the 4.3 million people exactly like her- he knows her?

Red kneeled down beside her and turned her over, underneath her is the small Virken baby. Red nods expressionless before handing the child to me. He looks at the Vortian before speaking again.

"She was our top engineer on the Massive. I would take her child with me, but I'm afraid of catching its disease."

"Disease?"

"Everyone who seems to have one of these _things_ seems to die."

Red spoke that last sentence with almost a bit of a humorous intent. I didn't really care y'know, a dead Vortian ain't no skin off my bone, but it bothers me that he would tell me something like that when my job is smuggling these creatures off-world.

"My Tallest...?"

"I left my package by the ship, and...Oh, try not to die."

"I will do my best my Tallest."

"One last thing, if I were you I'd hang onto that Virken girl. It's not like you could afford to pay her entry anywhere."

And on that note, Red had left almost as quickly as he had come. I stared at the sleeping child in my hands. I had heard her mother refer to her as _Tisvana_ or something... I didn't really care for children, or whatever this thing can be classified as, and I had never been a drone in a smeetery. It was obvious that I could not care for this creature.

I would have to sell her in the black market, I could think of quite a few people that would pay a great sum for a child like this.

In fact, a small circus troupe would be in town next week. I could care for the creature until then.


	3. Chapter Two

_More character background... I swear I'll get to the real story soon enough. Life is hell right now, and I like to take my time._

_Guess which character gets to be in the hole today about her life? (Also this is that "Why She Did It" one-shot I promised in the original IDOF, it fits much better in a chapter)_

_Also I know this is a cruddy chapter, I don't like it either. Although I loved Quinn before she became high._

**Chapter 2**

**Narrator**

Our second event that must be discussed well before I begin our account is the prelude to the aforementioned event. You see, my friend's mother had mentioned an incident that had occurred on Vort as the result of inhumane tests on children and had incorrectly assumed that the scientists were at fault and that the child was the victim.

She was wrong.

Oh years after, I wish I could go and inform her of how wrong she was. Oh yes the tests were inhumane and the scientists were at fault, but by no means was the child the victim. Some people will look on this event as a mere "goes around" scenario, but what conspired was far worse than the actual persons condemned.

Setting:

Outer Risk, Vort. Population: 38.

**2881 A.D.**

**Quinn**

"_Diamonds are forever..._

_Hold one up and then caress it..._

_Touch it, stroke it and undress it..._

_I can see every part, nothing hides in the heart..._

_To hurt me..."_

"Diamonds never lie to me..." I sang along underneath my blanket. Today is my first birthday, and my presents were a Shirley Bassey Compact Disc, and the information I could only listen to my favorite artist when it was a variable in a test.

Bastards.

I can hear screaming in the room next to me, the sound of claws ripping apart the upholstery in a vain attempt at self-defense mingling with the chorus, Shirley Bassey's melodic voice competing with the male next-door to exonerate his final moments from pain.

"_For when love's gone, they luster on..."_

And silence.

I hear footsteps towards my room and I cower, whimper, and feint my own death. I market with my Creator, I stand up ready to fight, I cry. Tonight though, they do not come to torture me in their own creative way, they come to announce me the strongest of their "pets." The others have expired.

"_Mere mortals who are not worth going to your grave for"_

They pull me out into the hallway as the chorus restarts, and announce that I am their guinea pig to produce an even stronger Virken. I am not an idiot, the second they create that perfect Virken I am dead to them. No different than the others.

"_forever..."_

I walk with them to the testing room, waving farewell to my half-sister, my deadbeat mother, and my worse father. They smile at me as I am dragged away, although they are not proud. My mother stops the guards for a moment and caresses my chin as I faintly hear the song change to Goldfinger.

"Ever since the day you were born, I knew that you would amount to something great. I am so very proud Quinn..."

"_...The man with a Midas touch,_

_A spider's touch,_

_Such a Cold finger..."_

My mother drags her nails down the side of my face and walks away from me, never looking back. My mother's words linger in the air, only I know how false they are. Her once seemingly soft and loving touch now replaced with the feel of a frozen actor's corpse. Rehearsed and emotionless they leave, cold and without meaning the illusion of the first time now lost.

And what about me? What about the child involved?

I am the one hand clapping

The child holding the bundle of twigs

The Anne Frank in the attic

The Blondi to their Hitler

The woman in the closet

But who am I to make such analogies? Around me all they see and hear is the girl that speaks in her constant monotone, never once leaving the comfort of her poetry and only taking the time to think as far as her subtext before one speaks.

They strap me down to a chair in an empty room. The lead scientist pushes a foul liquid down my throat, I struggle and choke. Some of the dark indigo viscous fluid rolls down my chin, my body writhing in pain to fight the poison. Finally I allow it in, a scream escapes my ruined throat as I burn.

I roll onto my side and vomit up a frothy substance the complimentary of what I had just been forced to down. The scientist unstraps me and allows me to wander around the room now spinning.

They tell me to open the window that locks from the inside. I do not understand. They hit me, and I submit, but something is quite different tonight.

Yes I am powerful. And those bastards treat me like a dog.

I slash the throat of the scientist in the room with me and watch him crumble. His blood squirts out like a beautiful fountain of rubies and copper. I lick my fingers and savor the sweet metallic flavor of his vital signs fading.

I reach for the light above me, now confident that I am in full control of this situation and that everyone that ever betrayed me will suffer individual hells for each of their grievances.

I close my fist and pull away frustrated, how dare it rebel against me? Did it not witness the same action that I did? Did it not watch this fool's last breath be taken away from him as I took his spirit?

Pause.

I suck in air and cry out as I realize what I have done. This was not what I wanted! I am just a child! I am far too young to be a murderer!

I have a panic attack.

Suddenly the window behind me shatters as the light rains fire and steel onto me. I shield myself from the collapsing room telekinetically and I look around startled.

_This...Did I do this...?_

I quickly rebuild my lost composure, yes. I did. I leap over mounds of rubble over to the door, my arms being my own personal gliders. This is what it is to reach my full potential, and I know what I have to do.

The Irkens wanted me to be their personal war machine, that was my entire purpose of creation. I could at the very least show them that they succeeded before I eradicate them. I've already got a head start, why stop?

Inside my room Shirley had stopped singing, the science lab was quiet, only dust and echoes remained. My mind that was previously hell-bent on revenge and murder cleared. I had almost won, I am all that's left. I stuffed my music into my backpack and stripped. I looked out my window at the moon and laughed a long, deep laugh until my diaphragm spasms.

"Gwendolyn, you are certainly a naughty girl, aren't you?" A male voice asked from behind me.

I twirled around and looked at my father disdainfully. His bright red eyes teased me, yet his voice demanded my attention. I released my claws and turned back towards the moon, creating a beautiful silhouette on the floor.

"I would hate for anything to happen to you, Quinn, you've got such potential to be great..."

There goes the script, I look back at my father and shake my head. This is the part where he offers me an opportunity to live in security whilst he turns me into the authorities, and after I am turned in I live in solitary confinement for the rest of my natural life.

"I would rather you kill me than go with you," I hissed, slowly turning around. I lunged at my father, an injured tiger fighting the poacher, but before I could reach my father, my mother pushed him out of harm's way.

I only moved my hand once before I heard two sickening thuds on the floor. My mother's body flew backwards one way, and her head the other. I searched for my father in the realization he had fled. He didn't even stay to make sure the woman who sacrificed herself for him was okay.

If I had found him, I would have killed him, but I have to give the old man some credit; he could make an exit.

The dead-beat had lit a fire outside the exits.

**Tallest Red**

The ship is a small sloop, my private ship for running under-the-table errands. I leaned on my arm looking out the starboard-side window at the burning reminder of one of my idiotic ideas, and even inside my secure and vacuum sealed ship, I could smell the distinct scent of burning antimony from inside the facility.

Antimony. They called it the wine of the insane, it was legend that anyone who drank from it would lose their minds swiftly and painfully, all the while developing a dependency to it, it was also known for causing premature aging and death. Tonight it appears to have claimed all 38 members of this research facility, including my daughter.

It had occurred to me that I had not paid mind to whether she had made it out alive or not, not that I cared much; emotions were obsolete and only held our people back.

But there she was.

At the very top of the research facility, a child stood laughing upon a pile of soot, I took a picture of the child before she had the chance to fly from the four story building and begin a trek.

It came out beautifully incriminating, the headlines wrote themselves.

It was time to pay a trip to Gti.


End file.
